I Quit, Mr Bond
by therunawaypen
Summary: James Bond: arrogant banker who think's he's the top of the world Q: His overworked and stressed PA James calls Q to a strip club in the middle of the night. Q snaps
1. Chapter 1

_I'm going to kill that son of a bitch…_

Q glared at the bright glowing screen of his cell phone as it proceeded to ring. Behind it, his alarm clocked bared the numbers "01:24" in bright red at his face.

There was only one bastard who would dare call him at this time of night. The same bastard who _always_ called him in the middle of the night. His employer, Mr. Bond.

"Hello?" Q answered, keeping his voice courteous because, that's what he was trained to do.

_"Hey Q-babe. I need you to bring the car by _Pussy Galore_._"

Q resisted the urge to scream. They _both_ had to work in the morning and Mr. Bond was at a damn _strip club?_ He shouldn't be surprised, he really shouldn't. It wasn't like this was the first time Bond had done something outrageous.

It wasn't even the first time Q had been forced to pick him up at that particular strip club.

He sighed, "Be there in 20 minutes, Mr. Bond." He didn't bother listening for a response, it's not like Bond ever dignified him with one anyway.

He was the only PA for Bond that had lasted more than three months. The rest had cracked under the pressure of Bond's incredible schedule and his outrageous ego.

As Q drove to the club, he couldn't help but fret about the number of things that would have to get done in the morning. Bond didn't make his millions by sitting on his ass (even if that's what it seemed like a majority of the time) and Q was in charge of _everything_ in the man's life. Which was fine…until Bond himself got in the way.

Q stopped in front of the overly gaudy strip club, with the words "Pussy Galore" in bright neon pink letters. He couldn't help but blush, honestly, hadn't the owners ever heard of a thing called tact? They weren't even _trying_ to be discreet.

Someone must have told Bond his car was waiting, because the banker walked out of the club less than a minute later. Judging by the suit that he was wearing, Bond must have gone to the club after work.

"Took you long enough." He chuckled, climbing into the back seat of the car. His employer looked at him in the rearview mirror, "You look like shit."

Q bit his lip, resisting the urge to throttle his employer, "Well not all of us can function on no sleep." He responded carefully, driving away from the god awful club.

Bond snorted, "I can see that." He settled in his seat. From the glitter Q could see on his employer's shirt collar and slacks, he had been very "lucky" that evening. "Nice bedhead, by the way."

It wasn't like Q had enough time to fix his hair when he went to pick up his boss. When did he _ever_ have enough time for himself?

"Seriously, your curls are getting ridiculous, Q." Bond laughed, "I would hate for my PA to look like a vagabond. Take a little time to work on your appearance. It's not like you have anything else to do."

Something inside Q snapped, causing him to slam the breaks on the car. To his satisfaction, Bond (who had not been wearing a seatbelt, the smug bastard) fell forward with a loud _thump_.

"What the hell, Q?" Bond glared up at Q, who had pulled the car off the road.

But Q wasn't listening; instead he turned off the ignition and turned to face his employer, "Nothing else to do? Are you _fucking_ kidding me?"

Bond blinked, most likely because Q never swore in his presence. Q took the chance to continue, "I have not just my own life to live, I have to live _yours_ as well. You know how many of your files have to be kept organized, how many bank accounts that need to be balanced with all your spending , just to make sure that you don't spiral out of control?" He gripped the steering wheel tightly, "You know how many of _your_ meetings I've made sure you went to, after a night of your ridiculous parties? Or how many of your clients I've placated after you've insulted them with your pigheadedness? How many of your deals I've had to save?"

Bond opened his mouth to speak, but Q beat him to it, "No, I'm talking, you're listening!" He was fuming now, venting everything he had been bottling the past few months, "And don't even get me started on what you do when you're not working! I mean, do you just think it's alright to constantly call a person in the middle of the night because you can't be bothered to drive yourself home? Or can't be bothered to call a taxi when you've obviously drunk yourself off your ass? I am a personal assistant, not a babysitter!

"I had a wonderful job with the government before I came to work for you, I am _not_ some bimbo who will bend over backwards for you." He hissed, seeing the incredulous look on Bond's face. "You may think you're God's gift to the world, James Bond, but without me, you're _nothing._"

Q was losing steam and he knew it. He took a deep breath, "Now, before I tender my resignation letter, will there be anything else, Mr. Bond?"


	2. Chapter 2

Someone was fucking with him, Q was sure of it. He had handed in his two weeks' notice (he only had _two more damn weeks_ of work) and someone was fucking with him.

It had started out small. Q had some into work and there had been a large and gaudy bouquet of flowers on his desk. What kind they were, Q didn't know, because the moment he got a whiff of them, his allergies kicked in, causing him to sneeze violently. One of the interns had to throw out the flowers, but even then, Q had been stuffed up and miserable the rest of the day.

Another day, someone had already placed a full mug on his desk when he came in to work. Q might have thought the gesture was thoughtful…if the mug hadn't been filled with the foulest tasting coffee Q had ever tasted. He didn't even _drink_ coffee and he knew it was foul stuff. It took him three mugs of his own stash of Earl Grey to get the taste out of his mouth.

"Your secret admirer isn't very good at what they do, huh Q?" One of the interns teased after Q had finished gagging on the coffee.

Q rolled his eyes, "Someone is determined to make my last two weeks here miserable."

The intern stared, "Last two weeks? You aren't leaving are you?"

"Of course I am, I can only handle so much abuse." Q sighed, typing at his computer to make sure all of Bond's appointments were in order.

Now the intern looked scared, "Don't leave me here alone with him!" He hissed, "You're the only one he actually listens to!"

"That would imply that Mr. Bond listens to me." Q shook his head, "Who knows, you might be R."

It had been a running joke in the office that Bond had gone through so many PA's that he stopped referring to them by name and simply labeled them by letter. A-P had all been fired within the past year, and after a sexual harassment lawsuit from M, Bond had sworn off female PA's.

"I'd rather jump in front of a bus, Q." The intern shook his head, "Won't you reconsider?"

Q shook his head, "Sorry." He stood, "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to enjoy my lunch break in the break room."

It was the only time of the day when Q could get some time alone (read: away from Bond). And since Bond couldn't legally force him to do anything during his lunch hour, it was what Q looked forward to every day.

Not that it took Q an hour to eat his lunch, he usually only needed 15 minutes. The rest of the time, he could catch up on his sleep. He had logged in many a nap on the break room couch (often times, it was the only sleep he got in a day). He set the alarm on his Blackberry to ring five minutes before he was due back to work before falling asleep.

So when Q opened his eyes, and saw that the time was closer to three in the afternoon than one, he panicked. He was _sure_ he had set the alarm, he _always_ did. Which meant that someone had turned it off…

As Q ran back to the office, he tried to think of who would have it out for him enough to try and get him fired. Didn't everyone know he was already quitting?

As much as a surprise waking up late in the break room was, it didn't compare to seeing his boss sitting at his desk.

"Ah, there you are Q." Bond said evenly, typing at his computer, "How was your nap?"

If the situation might have been different, he might have found the whole thing funny: his boss, sitting at his desk like a secretary (complete with reading glasses perched on the edge of his nose). But Q was simply too angry at the moment, "It was _you_? You turned off my alarm?" He clenched his fists, "What the hell are you trying to pull? Trying to make me look bad in my final weeks?"

To his surprise, Bond looked confused, "You looked tired…I thought you could use the sleep…"

"You _what?"_ Q shook his head, "If I need to catch up on my sleep, it's because you keep calling me in the middle of the night for stupid errands!"

"I haven't done that all week." Bond frowned.

This was true, Q realized. Bond hadn't called him after hours since his little meltdown in the car, "Then why turn off my alarm?"

"I already said you looked like you needed the rest. You work too hard."

Q stared at his boss, sitting innocently at his desk, "Who the hell are you and what have you done with my boss?"

Bond was outright _pouting_ now, "I'm not a complete ass."At Q's skeptical look, he relented, "Maybe I am, but I'm trying to apologize, ok? And since you didn't like the flowers or the coffee, I thought maybe you just needed to relax more."

By now, everyone in the office had stopped what they were doing and were now watching the spectacle. After all, James Bond apologized to _no one_, especially not an employee.

Q blinked, "Wait, it was _you _who put those flowers on my desk and got that rot-gut coffee?"

"I thought everyone liked coffee." Bond frowned, taking off his glasses, "And you didn't need to throw away those flowers, they were expensive."

"I'm allergic to pollen, Mr. Bond." Q shook his head, "And where the hell did you get that coffee, the break room?"

"Yes."

Q couldn't help it, he snorted, "That explains a lot. Have you even _tried_ the coffee in the break room?"

Bond shook his head, "I always have you get my coffee from…whatever café you always get it from."

"There's a reason for that." Q shook his head.

Now Bond looked contemplative, "Perhaps I should get better stock for the break room…" he muttered, "And you're allergic to flowers?"

"_Yes."_ Q nodded, "I had to have an intern throw them out because I couldn't get close enough to pick them up."

"So you never saw the card?"

Q's mind ground to a stop, "Card?"

Bond nodded, getting up, "I had a card sent with the flowers apologizing for my behavior as of late, and asking you to reconsider your resignation."

While flattering, Q wasn't about to fall for the Bond charm _that_ easily, "And you couldn't have told me that to my face?"

"I just did." Bond stepped from behind Q's desk, moving to where he was standing in front of Q. "We need you here, _I _need you here. Won't you stay?"

It took all of Q's will power to look in his employer's eyes and not go weak in the knees. In all the time he had worked for James Bond, he had thought he was immune to the Bond charm. Now he realized that wasn't true at all.

Fighting the blush trying to creep on his cheeks, Q cleared his throat, "I suppose I could stay a bit longer…" He muttered. Great, he had no more will power to refuse James Bond than any of his numerous conquests.

Bond grinned, "Great, because I never filed your two week's notice."

"You _WHAT?"_


	3. Chapter 3

It was almost embarrassing, how easily Q fell into a routine. Those who looked down on him might say he was meant to take orders (those assholes, luckily, were few and far between). Others might feel pity for him because he chose to stay with an employer who was arrogant and who had already abused his power over Q on more than one occasion. Q himself sometimes wondered why he stayed with James.

The banker was still wild and arrogant, there was no changing that. He would always drink and he would always find a reason to party. But…

But there was less of it. At least, less of it when Q advised him. And Q was finding the courage to speak out against his boss more. He didn't do it often, but there were times when Q needed to be the voice of reason ("No, you can't drink vodka during a meeting!") or be James's conscience ("Don't go party the night before an importance meeting with a customer"). And, for the most part, James listened to him.

But there was the other problem. James. At some point, his employer had stopped being "Mr. Bond" in his mind and become "James." Deep down, Q knew _why_ that was, but refused to admit it to himself.

Then that day, as he came in to work, there was another bouquet of flowers on his desk. Expecting another bout of allergies, Q has asked the intern to dispose of them. The intern just chuckled.

"You won't have a problem with these flowers, Q." He had said.

Curious, Q approached his desk. The flowers (burgundy roses) were silk. There was a note attached, _"I hope you like these better than the other flowers. They're almost as beautiful as you. ~James"_

Alarm bells started going off in Q's mind, along with a bright sign flashing "_WARNING!"_ This was crossing the lines of professionalism, this could _ruin_ his career. If he and James…if they had an affair (could he call it that? Neither of them were married), it could ruin them both.

Then why was his heart racing at the thought? Why were his cheeks flushed at the thought of being on James's arm like his latest conquest?

He was doomed. He couldn't even look James in the eye as they began working.

But James…didn't mention the flowers. Not once all during the day. In fact, he was perfectly behaved. Q only had to remind him not to drink on the job _once_, a new record. And by the end of the day, Q was at his wit's end trying to figure out what had happened to his boss.

"Tell Marci that I will be unable to make it to the meeting in Cardiff tomorrow, but I will be sending Alec, he is more than capable of handling the portfolio." James told Q, not looking up from his computer on his desk.

"Already done, Mr. Bond." Q nodded, typing away on his Blackberry, "And don't forget, you have a benefit to go to tomorrow night, you _will not_ be missing it."

"Of course," James nodded, "The Widows and Orphans of War foundation. Thank you for reminding me. What would I do without you?"

"Crash and Burn." Q teased, smiling softly. He looked at the clock on the wall. It was two hours after he "officially" stopped his shift, but…it wasn't unusual for him to work longer. That being said, he needed to get some sleep. "Anything else, Mr. Bond?"

There was silence in the office, James had stopped typing. Suddenly, Q could hear his own heartbeat in his ears. James stood slowly, watching Q.

"…Mr. Bond?" Q asked and, to his embarrassment, his voice cracked slightly as his employer crossed the room.

James was in front of him now, his trademark smirk on his face, "Did you like the flowers?"

_Now_ Q knew he was in trouble, "Um…y-yes…they didn't make me sneeze." He gulped.

"I'm glad." James nodded, "I do hope you got the note too."

"Yeah…not your best pick up line…" Q tried to be lighthearted about the situation, but inside, he was panicking.

James smirked, "Perhaps," a hand reached out, resting on Q's hip, "But maybe I can work on that."

It was then Q decided he would _not_ let James walk all over him, as his employer_or_ as a man, "I am _not_ one of your conquests, Mr. Bond—"

"James." His employer interrupted, "Call me James." He chuckled, "And I'm well aware you're not a stripper, debutant, groupie, model, or even a woman for that matter. You're Q, the one person who keeps my world from spinning out of control. You're Superman without the tights…though I wouldn't say no to some role play sometime." He winked.

Q was bright red, "I-I'm just doing my job…James." He cleared his throat, "Anything else?"

James smirked, "Just you, Q." he murmured, tilting Q's chin up and kissing him softly.

Q should have fought back, should have defended his reputation as a PA, insisted he wasn't easy.

But he really didn't want to.


End file.
